


Serving One's Purpose

by V_e_s_a_n_u_s



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders/Hawke - Freeform, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dalish Elves, Dreaming, Drunken Flirting, Electricity, Elvish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fade Spirits, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healers, Hightown, Hurt/Comfort, In the Fade, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Kissing, Lowtown, Lyrium, Lyrium Tattoos, M/M, Mages, Mages (Dragon Age), Magic, Memories, Pain, Panic, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spirit of Purpose - Freeform, Spirits, Tevene, The Chantry, The Fade, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wicked Grace, dream - Freeform, handers - Freeform, host - Freeform, spirit possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_e_s_a_n_u_s/pseuds/V_e_s_a_n_u_s
Summary: Hawke met a Spirit of Purpose up on Sundermount and made a deal with it for... reasons. Now he has an extra passenger in his head, just like Anders and Justice, but it starts causing problems veeerrry quickly. This is the story of everything that happens afterwards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo so these first few chapters don't go into much detail in terms of what happened, but from reading the summary you know what's going on :)  
> It does get explained later on! Hope you enjoy :)

Hawke left the cave, shivering on the inside, feeling different, twisted. He coughed and tried to stand up slightly straighter, to not show his party members that this was affecting him. They knew, though now the time for arguing was over: too late.

Sebastian and Fenris stood away from him, ice cold, frequently checking on him with uncomfortable, angry eyes. Hawke was sure they would have fought and most likely killed him, if it had been anyone else. But they didn’t: they’d been through too much with the man, and for some blighted reason they didn’t want to see him hurt, regardless of how irresponsible his decisions were.

Merrill’s eyes lingered on him too, out of concern. None of them were happy with how this had turned out, but she was at least sympathetic towards him. She cast her eyes down and fiddled with the green fabric at her waist. Even she wasn’t foolish enough to do this. She had thought that Hawke, having seen Anders would…

It was pointless to think about now. It was done. There was nothing they could do.

She kept her eyes downcast as they passed through her clan, trying not to hurt as her once-friends glared at her from the sidelines.

The Keeper acknowledged them as they passed. “Andaran- by the Creators, Hawke, are you well?”

“I am fine, Keeper,” his voice was strained, although he tried to hide it, and his forehead was damp, “Thank you for your concern.”

“But you look quite grey… why don’t you let one of our heale-"

“I said I’m fine, thank you.” He snapped, but instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry, I just- I have something I need to do.”

Marethari narrowed her eyes slightly at that but gave her usual farewell, wishing that Fen’Harel never caught his scent, and Hawke walked on. The Keeper caught Merrill’s arm and for the first time in years, the old elf spoke to her without criticising her. “Is something wrong?” She asked in a hushed tone, as the rest of the party moved on.

Merrill shook her head, slowly, unsure of the answer herself. “Hawke says he is fine, and I am inclined to believe him,” she lilted as if she knew it to be true.

The Keeper’s eyes flicked back to Hawke’s back. “Ma harel, Merrill,” She shook her head. “Watch him, child, something does not seem right, something unnatural.”

 _Oh how right you are, Keeper_ , she thought, but the words that left her lips were “I will, Keeper. Dareth shiral.”

The small elf caught up quickly enough to the group, easier since Sebastian was walking so far back from where Hawke was storming ahead. She fell into step a little way from him, legs working twice as fast to match his pace.

None of them talked on the way back. Not when Hawke stumbled slightly and caught himself on a low hanging branch, nor when he started rubbing his temples. It was just tense, uncomfortable silence and Hawke powering on like he actually had somewhere to be.

The green fields and forests shot by them as they made their way back to Kirkwall. Merrill usually liked to stop and admire the things she missed living in the alienage, like the soft birdsong in the distance or the small insects upon delicate leaves. There were insects in Lowtown too: the flies and spiders. Merrill didn’t stop to admire those though, but she was happy they kept the rats company.

She didn’t stop on the way back, though. There was a tension in the party you could cut with a knife and she knew someone would snap at her if he did. She also didn’t want to spend too much time looking away from Hawke. He seemed… stable. He didn’t look healthy, but he wasn’t turning into a demon or anything, so she considered that good.

Fenris was staring at him too. He scrutinised Hawke’s every step, how he leaned on his staff for support and his breathing was slightly laboured, and he watched. Everything in him wanted to kill him the second he made that deal.

Venehdis, what was Hawke thinking? Hawke always preached to him how not all mages were weak, not all of them would succumb to demons and blood magic, and as much as he hated to admit it, Fenris had started to believe him. He’d argued with Anders saying that yes, Hawke wasn’t weak and yet here they were.

He was no better than the healer, and Fenris hated him for it.

 

* * *

 

Their feet hit the stone floors of Kirkwall and they made their way into Hightown with swift steps, entering the market square. The merchants were packing up for the day, stacking their various merchandise into crates and wagons to be stored for the night. The sky, cresting over the grey buildings, was a steel blue with streaks of orange and red from the half-set sun, and looked down on them from above.

Then Hawke spoke the first words to break the silence that had fallen since they left the Dalish camp. “Right,” He said, not facing anyone and fearing to see the looks in their eyes if he did. “I’m going home.”

And then he left, without so much as a wave or a jest like his normal self, and silence fell once more.

Fenris, Sebastian and Merrill stood there, in the market square for a moment with the dusky sky above them, watching their friend walk away. The group in itself was wrought with tension as it was, none of them caring particularly for the others, but as they turned to each other, they had the same look in their eyes.

“Maker,” breathed Sebastian, rubbing his forehead tensely. “What does this mean? What do we do now?”

Merrill shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe he went through with it. After everything he’s seen-”

“You didn’t help dissuade him, witch,” snarled Fenris, glaring at her through challenging eyes.

Merrill was shocked, “I tried to warn him!”

“Oh, you’d be surprised I point the finger at the blood mage and her agenda?”

“I never wanted this! Especially not for Hawke. This is the opposite of everything I want- everything I’ve been trying to do!”

Fenris opened his mouth in retort but Sebastian cut in, blue eyes still on the last place he saw Hawke. “We have no idea how dangerous he is or if it’s going to get worse. We need to tell the others.”

Fenris nodded and through gritted teeth, he muttered, “As much as I hate to say it, we need the healer.”

“Anders will know what to do.” Merrill nodded quickly, hair bouncing around her face.

“Does he live with Hawke, now?” The human asked, worried they’d have to race to Hawke’s mansion to break the news.

“No,” Merrill said, but quickly continued, “Well, I mean he does, sometimes, but for the moment, well probably-”

“He’ll still be at the clinic,” Fenris interjected, unable to stand the rambling. “It’s not dark yet.”

The archer was nodding slowly. “I’ll speak with Varric and Isabela at the Hanged Man. You two go and tell Anders.”

Partially out of annoyance of having to talk to the mage and out of sheer practicality, Fenris asked: “Will a brother not stand out at the tavern?”

“No more than an elf, Fenris,” he replied, with that knowing tone in his voice that made Fenris’ ears twitch.

“Maybe Aveline will be there too,” Merrill pointed out, “I know Donnic likes it there: Isabela is always telling me about-”

Fenris simply spoke over her and nodded curtly at Sebastian, “Warn them.”

He inclined his head in response, “Maker speed your steps,” he said, before turning and heading off for Lowtown.

“Let’s go,” said Fenris, as he span too and set a brisk pace. He was more than a little annoyed to go with the blood mage to talk to the abomination, but he knew it had to be done.

The market square continued to empty, and soon, there was nothing except for the cold stone and the darkening sky above. The wind whistled through the buildings and a guard walked in for her post during the night, shivering, and then standing to attention.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of what Hawke's experiencing right now, he's all confuzzled with someone else in his head - this is what happens when you both try and keep control at once... uh oh :S  
> Hope ya like it!

Hawke strode away from his group without so much as looking back. His head was pounding: it was too loud, too full. It felt like his head was going to split apart under the strain. But through the pain that worsened with every step, he focused only on the task at hand: getting home and out of sight. It was the only thing that mattered to him, and kept some of his concentration off of the throbbing in his temples.

His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he navigated the stone streets of Hightown subconsciously. He didn’t acknowledge the few other nobles who nodded to him as they made their ways home. They huffed in distaste, muttering about ‘ _that_ commoner’. He’d barely have cared in his right mind but now he didn’t even give it a passing thought.

He pushed open the door to the family estate and shut it behind him, then headed straight for his room. Of course, it wouldn’t work out like he wanted. It never did: this was Kirkwall after all.

Bodahn greeted him by the door. “Good evening, messere, I hope-”

“Not now, Bodahn,” Hawke pushed past him, and the dwarf stepped back quickly, mouth slamming shut. He didn’t want to upset the man who was housing his boy so generously.

Sandal himself was looking on with wide, blue eyes that saw too much and he opened his mouth to speak but Bodahn shook his head. The boy did as he was told but his eyes didn’t leave the back of Hawke’s head as he made his way up the stairs.

“Oh, Garrett, you’re back. I was…” said his mother, emerging from her room in a dressing gown with the Hawke family sigil. She continued talking as her son passed her, updating him on a letter they’d received from Carver.

Orana, not wanting to speak to the man who clearly did not want to be spoken to, but her years as a slave made her understand that you had to at least _acknowledge_ your betters (although any of the Hawke family would hate to hear her say such). Thus she only nodded her head meekly from the corner and said only “Master,” as he passed.

Hawke ignored her as he had everyone else, but his mother caught on to the fact he wasn’t listening, and she stepped out of the alcove. “Garrett, what’s wrong?”

His hand curled into a fist and he span to face them just outside of his door. “Can’t you all see that I just want to be left alone? You all just wag your chins for no reason, you chat for no purpose! Spare me your useless nattering.” He snapped, raising his hands in frustration before turning on his heel and storming into his room, slamming the door behind him.

The room was left stunned: Orana flinching and his mother staring at the door in shock.

“Come on now, my boy,” Bodahn said quietly, and ushered Sandal towards their room quickly, as he had started to get agitated. “Goodnight, ma’am!” He called up to Leandra, who hadn’t moved.

 

* * *

 

Hawke collapsed to his knees on the other side of the door, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. There had to be something, _anything_ he could do to make this stop. He couldn’t even remember _why_ this was happening, why he was suffering this unending torment that rang out in his head. He’d done this for some reason, for some reason this was _his_ choice, and he wanted it for something-

And then he remembered. _Purpose_.

It all came flooding back: the cave, the spirit, the deal, everything. But recognising it didn’t help.

In fact, it made it worse.

He cried out and pressed his forehead into the stone floor with gritted teeth, as the pain speared down his spine. He felt a cold fire rage in his blood and spread to fill every part of him, burning and freezing at the same time, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. It tasted like magic: it tasted like the Fade.

His eyes were scrunched shut and he curled into himself, trying to get away from the sheer agony that lanced through him. His mind reeled, unable to form a coherent thought, only occupied with this struggle he couldn’t comprehend.

He had never known what it was like to fight for control in his own head, but now he knew it to be torture. The most intense anguish ripping his mind apart, pulled in an unknown direction that he knew to be out of his grasp. He held back his tortured groans for the sake of his family but some still slipped out as he sobbed into the floor.

His heart was racing, pumping this blistering chill around his body and he flopped onto his back, hands clutching at his skin. As if somehow he could make it stop. For a moment, all he could think was that he was grateful he was alone, so no one saw this, but he needed help, and what he wouldn’t give for someone to help him, for Anders to-

And then suddenly, everything was numb.

He froze in place, shocked. Then slowly, he picked himself up, rising to stand on firm legs. He should have been thankful. He would have been thankful… until he realised, that _he_ didn’t move.

He panicked. Well, he panicked as much as someone can when you’re not in control of your body. He screamed and cried for someone to help him, but made no sound. Maker knows, this terror was worse than that torment a moment ago.

He felt his eyes looking down at his hands, watching them turn over in a fascination that wasn’t his. He saw his hands flex from far away, and he tried, he tried _desperately_ to move those hands himself, but he couldn’t move anything. He couldn’t _do_ anything.

His mouth spoke and he would have jumped out of his skin. The voice that left his lips was slow, determined and deep: a voice that was most certainly not _his_. “ **Stop struggling. It is uncomfortable.** ”

Hawke would have laughed. What was uncomfortable was having your body ridden like a Ferelden Forder. Needless to say, he did not stop.

“ **You wanted this**.”

This was never what he wanted. He wanted the desire, the will to carry out what he was meant to do, and the means by which to do it. Emphasis on _he_.

Hawke felt incredibly strained, using all his mental strength to push back against the pressure he felt, the blockage that stopped him reaching his body. He was not going to be some puppet with no say in his fate. Never let it be said that Hawke wouldn’t go out fighting, even if he destroyed himself from the inside out.

And, after what felt like hours of struggling, he pushed through.

He felt that hot-cold recede from his limbs, and he pushed out to fill the space gratefully, exhausted. But in regaining his control, that pressure and pain returned in his head.

And Maker, how he screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're following Fenris and Merrill to tell Anders about Hawke's deal... How will it go down with the healer who still has some unresolved issues of his own surrounding possession :S  
> Hope ya like it!

Anders was nodding empathetically at the family of a boy who was laying in one of the cots, small body wracked with a burning cough. The father gave him the details around the boy’s sickness and he listened intently, eyes scanning the child as he spoke. He nodded once more as the man stopped talking, looking at him with a worried expression.

Anders gave a reassuring smile to the man. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to one of his desks and brought over one of his salves.

He helped the boy remove his small shirt and rubbed the salve on his chest. The boy’s breathing soothed a bit but the mage could tell it hadn’t helped much. He paused thoughtfully, considering what to do next, and then he summoned a spell and positioned his hands above the boy.

Suddenly the door crashed open and a loud shout echoed around the room, “Mage!”

“Sweet Andraste!” The healer jumped visibly, and the magic crackled, unstable, and Anders hastened to concentrate and control it to save the boy some unnecessary scarring. Justice flinched and was yelling at him about templars, and he glanced up, more focused on not hurting the child than whoever it was.

Fenris and Merrill were walking towards him, and although he wasn’t as concerned as he was when he thought they were templars, the looks on their faces meant he still rushed to finish the spell.

The boy sat up when he took a breath for the first time in weeks that didn’t make him keel over coughing. His father beamed from beside him, bringing Anders into a hug. The mage stood there, uncomfortable, and then excused himself as the family rejoiced.  

“I could have killed him!” He whispered angrily at Fenris, who couldn’t care less, but then he rubbed his forehead wearily, tired and in no mood to fight. “What do you two want?”

“Anders,” Merrill said, her silvery voice ladened with a concern that made Anders’ eyebrows raise. “Hawke has done something terrible.”

His heart stopped for a moment, and then started a moment after with a thundering pace. Done what? Caught by the templars? Kidnapped? He wasn’t de- no, he couldn’t be. His eyes flashed between the two elves in front of him in fear and he wasn’t proud to admit that his voice wobbled when he spoke. “What?”

Fenris’ green eyes snapped away from the mage and to the family still surrounding the cot. “Not here.”

The Mage followed his eyes and understood somewhat. He told the family to come back if it resurfaced and they thanked him again, and then he led the elves to his room at the back. They all crammed into the relatively small quarters and Anders sat down on his small cot. His hands were trembling, distressed what had happened to Hawke when he wasn’t by his side, as he looked at the two expectantly.

They glanced at each other, and Merrill stammered. “We… on Sundermount, um- I-”

“Fenris?” Anders asked nervously when he didn’t immediately interject as he usually did over Merrill’s rambling.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the man on the bed, and then he sighed. “Hawke made a deal with a demon.”

“A spirit.” Merrill corrected as Anders’ eyebrows shot up in surprise.

He stood up in alarm. “For what? Where is he now? What happened? Is he-” his voice cracked, “Tell me he’s okay.”

Fenris looked up at the grubby ceiling, and anyone would think he was asking the Maker to give him strength, if he was more devout. “The de- the spirit needed a host.”

Anders’ face fell and he felt sick. “No.” He said, slowly shaking his head with increasing speed. “No, he didn’t.” Upon seeing their unwavering expressions, his heart fell further. “No, what- why?” His hands buried themselves in his hair in shock before his eyes snapped up again. “Why did you let him do this?”

Fenris snarled back at that accusation. “I didn’t. Sebastian and I argued with him, to make him not speak to the demon, let alone make a deal with it!” He ground his teeth together. “But mages don’t know how to see reason.”

He almost exploded at that, electricity crackling between his fingertips, but Merrill spoke over quickly, trying to stop the men from fighting. “Hawke does what he likes, you can’t change his mind when he’s set on something.”

Anders’ eyes crackled blue for a brief moment before he snapped at her. “You knew the risks! You, of all people, should have known to stop him!” His nostrils flared and the lightning still danced over his clenched fist. “Unless you _wanted_ this to happen!”

Merrill took a step backwards and raised her hands, genuinely frightened that he was going to arc that electricity towards her at any moment. “I never wanted this. _Please_ , Anders, you’ve got to listen to me. Think-think about Hawke! He needs you!”

There was a brief moment as that settled in, and Anders came out of that hostile crouch and the magic dissipated at his hand. “He… needs me?” His face was once again worried, every remnant of anger gone from his face as he thought about the man he loved.

“Look,” Merrill said, coming a little closer, “He’s back in his mansion, but we don’t know if he’s okay, or… or…”

“Or if he’s dangerous.” Fenris finished, face and voice flat.

“We need to go,” Anders said, pushing past them, “Right now.”

He didn’t grab much on the way out, just a couple of lyrium potions to be safe, but his mind was occupied with Garrett. As they made their way through Darktown, he was torn between being baffled as to why he did this and focusing on what state he might be in. Was he fully possessed? Just a puppet for a demon to play with? Which one of them was in control?

And possibly the worst question struck him like a fireball to the chest. Was he too late? Hawke could be long gone by now, just a tortured husk for a demon to ride around in, or the merging could have been unsuccessful or too stressful for the spirit and it could’ve fully developed into a demon, destroying Hawke in an instant. The questions were driving him mad.

They flitted through the now dark streets in the shadows, no one was around, but more surprisingly no one attacked them: no raiders or assassins or pickpockets. It was highly unusual, but maybe those who were around saw the murderous looks on their faces and decided they’d prefer to live.

Justice piped up from the corner of his mind, uneasy with the instability of Anders in that moment. “ ** _Our_ merging was successful,** ” he offered as consolation, although he knew it wouldn’t help much.

 _We both knew what we were getting into_ , Anders thought back at him, running a shaky hand through his hair as they turned another corner.

“ **Hawke and the spirit made a deal: they knew what they did.** ”

 _But Hawke is reckless, he doesn’t see the consequences of his actions until it’s too late_. The mage’s mind was still racing.

“ **But you love him.** ” He said bluntly. That he did.

Justice did something then that Anders did not expect. He offered up Anders’ memories to him, memories of Hawke and their time together, and Anders was enraptured with the images.

Seeing Hawke for the first time, and that sly grin when he introduced himself. Them laughing together as they returned from the Wounded Coast. Glancing at him during games of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, catching his mischievous eye and glancing away with a blush. Their first kiss: the feeling of his soft lips and beard scratching against him. Hawke’s triumphant smile at the end of a fight as he cried out. Their first night together and-

Anders’ mind was calmed but he was sad, upset that he was going to lose the only good thing in his life. He didn’t think he could take that.

“ **There is hope,** ” Justice said, before quietly receding back.

 _Thank you,_ he thought, and he refocused on the world around him. He wiped unshed tears from his eyes and Merrill pretended she didn’t see, then he cleared his throat and the sound echoed off the stone walls around them.

By now, they were in the same market square Hawke had abandoned them in not long ago. Fenris wondered idly if Sebastian had told the others yet, and what they were doing. He offered no more thought on the subject as they neared the Hawke estate, though. If they were to face an abomination in there, he wanted to be fully alert.

Anders paused outside the door, briefly. He half-turned to the others, to suggest that he go in alone at first, to see what they were dealing with. His mouth only got halfway open before his voice was cut off by a scream.

Anders froze. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slammed open the door without a moment’s hesitation and ran inside.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we sort out the problem with both Hawke and Purpose trying to have control at once... maybe. Hope ya like it :)

Orana was tending to the fire before heading to bed for the night when she heard a scream and the door burst open. She leapt away from the fireplace in fright, the poker falling into the blaze, making it crackle.

“Master Anders-” she yelped, as the mage stormed in and ran up the stairs.

Leandra came out of her room just in time to have Anders run past him. “Maker,” she said as the elves followed him up, “Was that Garrett?”

“It’s best if you stay here, Hahren,” Merrill stayed back to tell her with a rushed voice, then paused momentarily having realised not only had she spoken in Elvish to the woman but also that she just called her an elder of all things, but as she opened her mouth a strangled gasp rang out.

Anders opened the door to Hawke’s room in a rush, and then his breath left him. The man was sprawled out on the floor, crying out, and his body was seizing up sporadically, eyes flashing purple and then back to their normal blue.

Anders ran in, skidding to his knees and put Hawke’s head in his lap. His desperate eyes scanned Hawke’s but his eyes were glassy and saw nothing, whether they were glowing or not. He shook his shoulders and the man didn’t respond, only groans and whimpers leaving his lips.

“Hawke? Hawke, answer me!” His eyes were frantic, his fingers digging into his shoulders. He was panicking, this was worse: he didn’t know what was happening. Distantly he was theorising that neither of them were adjusting to the possession, neither of them were _accepting_ it, but his mind was filled with fear and how he could snap Hawke out of that catatonic state.

He summoned a spell with shaky hands and ran it over the man’s form, but it had no effect. Hawke’s eyes screwed shut and his head whipped back and forth on Anders’ lap. So Anders tried a different spell, and another and another until the man yelled again, curling into himself and tears filled Anders’ eyes.

“Justice!” He shouted into the room, his mind too filled with worry to think coherently. “Please-please can you do something?”

From his mind, Justice answered “ **I am… unsure.** ”

“Please, Justice,” The man cried, tugging the unresponsive Hawke closer in his embrace, face buried in his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Justice snapped into control, his eyes blazing blue as he looked down at the man before him with a clarity free from emotion. He pushed the man off his lap and knelt beside him. “ **Elf!** ” He called, not taking his eyes off of Hawke as he spoke.

Fenris bristled in the doorway, he hadn’t walked any further: it seemed too personal and he didn’t know what to do, but now the spirit seemed to be calling him. He stepped further in, hesitantly, and Justice seemed annoyed, flicking his glowing eyes up to him impatiently.

“ **You can use your lyrium without killing, yes?** ” He said, eyes unwavering and boring into the elf. Fenris responded with a curt nod and the spirit continued. “ **I believe it will shock the spirit enough for it to either recede or take control. Either will do.** ”

Fenris was uncertain, he didn’t trust the demon nor the mage’s lips he spoke from, but he didn’t have any other ideas. He walked forwards slowly, kneeling opposite Justice, and lit his tattoos.

Justice closed his eyes from the feeling of being that close to the sizzling lyrium and rocked subconsciously towards him, but knowing this required him to focus, depending on the outcome, he leaned back, stood up and backed away slightly. He could still feel the lyrium in the air, crackling and reminding him of the Fade, but his head was clear.

Anders cried out in dismay when he left Hawke’s side, and Justice thought at him “ **The lyrium affects spirits differently, otherwise I wouldn’t suggest it. It will affect me as much as the one possessing Hawke.** ”

The mortal in the corner of his mind was still panicking, and he could feel an almost overwhelming need to hyperventilate, but tried to separate his own thoughts from Anders as much as he could so he could remain rational for him.

Hawke was gritting his teeth, body tense and clammy, and then Fenris passed his lyrium-lined hand over him, feeling the man prickle beneath his touch. When Hawke didn’t seem to change much, he steeled himself and concentrated, and he pushed his hand gently through his chest. He only got about a quarter of an inch deep when the body beneath him convulsed, and Fenris withdrew his hand quickly as Hawke’s back arched up and he cried out.

The man sat bolt upright and Fenris fell unflatteringly backwards, seeing the startlingly purple glow of his eyes. Justice leapt forwards, gripping the body by the shirt and brought his face close to his, staring the spirit in the eyes.

“ **You- Purpose?** ” He asked in surprise, despite what he had said and knowing Hawke, he had expected a demon, not one of the rare beneficial spirits such as himself. If he could even call himself that anymore.

“ **Justice, help me.** ” His voice echoed the Fade, much like his own, and resonated throughout the room.

“ **I intend to.** ” He shifted his position slightly, still holding the spirit in place. “ **You cannot both be in control. The mortal is your host: you must find a balance.** ”

“ **It is… difficult, I have to-** “

“ **If you wish to remain, you must compromise. For now, _that_ is your purpose.** ” He used the same logic he and Anders had employed: if he were to embody justice in the mortal realm, he had to coexist and work with his host, and to make him understand, he emphasised the virtue that Purpose understood most. “ **You must let him have control, for now.** ”

Purpose looked at him, and he saw fear in eyes that had never felt fear before. He knew that feeling: experiencing a mortal’s emotions for the first time was overwhelming, too much information that he didn’t know how to comprehend.

“ **There will be a time where you will be in control, as I am now. You must trust your host.** ” Anders agreed with him from somewhere, still frantic and desperate for this to work. “ **Your minds are one but you are still aware, still conscious. You will help him carry out your purpose.** ”

Purpose’s eyes fluttered downwards, as if he was concentrating very hard. His eyebrows drew together softly and then he looked back to Justice.

“ **Trust him,** ” Justice said.

In that moment, he could see that he did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little skip to see Sebastian tell the rest of the gang at the Hanged Man about what happened with Hawke. Hope ya like it!

Sebastian took a deep breath outside of the door to the Hanged Man. He seldom came to the local tavern, although he had been once, to play a game of Wicked Grace. He was still surprisingly good at it, despite not having played it since his youth, but he decided he wasn’t going again. 

He pushed the wooden door open and walked into the warm room. A few eyes landed on him as the fire sparkled off of his white armour, and they continued to stare, seeing the depiction of Andraste on his waist with narrowed eyes. He did not acknowledge the looks and took a few more steps in before a certain pirate slung her arm over his shoulder with a not-so-sober grin.

“And the priest joins us lowlifes!” Isabela slurred with a grand gesture, earning some cheers from the so-called lowlifes. 

Sebastian laughed shortly, “I’m not a priest, Isabela, men can’t even-”

“Hush, love. Now are you here for a drink or for something... wetter?” She winked and pecked the archer on the cheek. He blushed and kicked himself for the laugh she got out of it.

“Something happened with Hawke,” he said, and Isabela released him at the grim voice he used. “I need to talk to you and Varric. Is Aveline here?” 

“She left a while ago with a rather excited-looking Donnic. I think-” she paused as she caught his eye. “Not the time. Let’s get Varric.” 

She led him up the stairs towards Varric’s room. The dwarf’s door was rarely shut but tonight it was, and Isabela didn’t quite know what to make of that. She didn’t knock - she wasn’t the sort of person to knock - and pushed open the doors. 

She didn’t quite know what she was expecting. What she was  _ hoping _ for, however, was him sprawled out somewhere, chest hair on full display, maybe with his crossbow… Unlikely, she knew, but a girl can dream, can’t she? 

What she found, rather disappointingly, was Varric scribbling away, surrounded by parchment and candlelight. He looked up over the stack of paper in front of him in tired surprise. “Do they not teach you to knock in Rivain?”

She laughed and crossed her arms as Sebastian followed her in and greeted the dwarf with a smile. Varric put his quill down and didn’t ask why they were there, seeing by the look on the archer’s face that he had something to say. 

He just gestured to the chair opposite him, and the Prince sat down. “Go on, Choir Boy,” Isabela smirked and pushed some of Varric’s writing aside and perched on the table. Varric chuckled and rolled his eyes. Sebastian shifted slightly, before he started telling them everything that happened with Hawke.

 

* * *

“And the other two have gone to tell Anders,” he finished several minutes later. 

Varric was pinching the bridge of his nose, staring at the table. Hawke had made some spectacularly bad decisions over the past three years, most of which including whether or not to start a fight, but this topped it off. It’s like he hadn’t even seen what it did to Blondie. “Well, shit.” he said, shaking his head, “But so is your storytelling. That’s something we’ve got to work on later, Choir Boy.”

“Is that  _ really _ what you’re focusing on?” Sebastian asked, slightly frustrated. 

“I’m just saying it’s something to think on,” he chuckled, but continued more seriously, “So where is he now?” 

“The last thing I knew he was heading to his mansion,” The Prince replied, “I’m praying for all of Hightown that he’s staying there.”   


Isabela sighed, under her breath. “Oh, Hawke. What shit have you got yourself into this time?” She shook her head slowly. “Are all the mages up and turning abominations?”

“Daisy seems to have her head screwed on enough not to do that,” Varric pointed out, “When her head isn’t in the clouds, that is.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Sebastian said, seeming almost impatient. He was anxious to know Hawke wasn’t wreaking havoc all over Hightown.

“Look, Choir Boy,” Varric said, leaning back. “We can’t really do anything. I’ll not be the first dwarf to admit I don’t know much about spirits or the Fade, but from what Blondie says, I don’t think this is reversible.” He ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair, soothing the jarring thoughts placed there by Hawke’s deal. “And for if he’s dangerous… well look, after Grumpy’s told Blondie he’ll head home, which is around the corner from Hawke’s place, and then you’ll be heading back to do all of your praying and whatnot, so if he goes on a rampage, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“I suppose…” Sebastian agreed half-heartedly, “I’m just not sure it’s wise to let  _ another  _ abomination into the city.” 

“And what would you do?” Varric shook his head, “Look, I know what you feel about Blondie but this is  _ Hawke _ we’re talking about.” The man sighed in response but offered nothing else, but Varric knew he was right. 

“We’ll go see him tomorrow then?” Isabela asked, “Or do we wait for him to come to us?” 

The others seemed at a loss. If they went to him it would seem as if they were ganging up on him, but if they didn’t go at all it would seem like they didn’t care. 

Varric hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “What about a game of Wicked Grace? I’ll invite everyone, it’ll be informal, and he doesn’t have to bring up the demon in his head if he doesn’t want to.” 

“Ooh, I would love a chance to see Fenris’ other tattoos…” Isabela stared dreamily into the distance for a moment, relishing in the fact they played for coin and clothes, “And support Hawke, of course.” 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Choir Boy,” Varric said, knowing the Prince didn’t accept his invitations anymore. 

“I’ll come. I think it’s best if I’m there. I’ll decline the offer of playing, though.” 

Isabela pouted, “But taking off all that shiny armour was my next wish, and see more of that younger you I keep hearing about.” 

The brother chuckled softly, “Then you will be greatly disappointed, I’m afraid.” 

She shook her head again, frowning playfully. “I’ll go and find Lady Man-Hands in the morning then, and catch her up on everything before she runs into Hawke on a patrol or something. That  _ would _ be exciting.” 

“That would be a good idea. Spread the word about the game tomorrow, if you have the chance.” 

The rogues nodded in response and Sebastian said goodbye and left, looking forward to learning more at the game, even if he wasn’t playing. And he would be lying to say that he wasn’t going to walk past the Hawke mansion anyway, just to check nothing was amiss: lying is a sin, after all. 

“He’s cheery,” Isabela said, pointing over her shoulder as she hopped up. 

“He means well,” Varric laughed, “I think that’s what he means anyway, it’s hard to tell through the veil of sanctimony and self-righteousness.” 

Isabela grinned, and took a few steps towards the door, “I’ll be off then,” she paused, throwing a glance over her shoulder, “That is, unless your chest hair is feeling particularly lonely tonight…?” 

The dwarf chuckled again, stacking the papers she’d knocked astray. “Not today, Rivaini.” 

“You’re implying you’ll say yes one day! That’s cruel, you know.” She winked and left, swaying her hips as she sauntered down the stairs. 

Alone again, Varric rubbed his temples in slow circles. What was Hawke  _ thinking _ ? He wasn’t, clearly, or he wouldn’t have made a deal with a demon. It’s the only way he could explain it. 

Idly, he wondered how Anders was dealing with this. The guy had some issues, it was clear to see that, not that he’d ever admit it. Another reason to keep the templars off his back: he had enough on his plate. But he did wonder how he was, Justice and all, nowadays - regrettably, he hadn’t spoken to him in quite a while. 

“Blighted mages and their deals.” He was glad he would never have this problem, and that when he got into bed that night, he wouldn’t have to dream and go to the Fade. Most people didn’t have that luxury. 

He sighed once more. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Hawke now, and he's back! Which is great! But not for Anders, who's suddenly having this hit a little too close to home... :(  
> Hope ya like it! :)

The feeling returned to his limbs, and Hawke prepared for the pressure in his head but felt nothing, only an area of his mind that was distinctly not _his_. But it wasn’t painful, and Maker knows, he was grateful. His memory of the last few hours was hazy, but he remembered that agony and he was just glad it was over.

Anders shoved Justice out of the way and he leapt forwards, crushing the man in a hug, a stream of _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ sent towards his spirit. “Maker preserve me,” he sobbed into him, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Hawke returned the hug, relishing having undivided control of his limbs. “You could never lose me,” he grinned softly, “I’m too big for that.”

Anders laughed, and it was a happy sound, unburdened. It felt like he hadn’t seen the man in years, and he held him tight.

There was an uncomfortable cough from the doorway, and Hawke glanced up to see Fenris, Merrill and most of his household just standing there. He smiled sheepishly and apologised. “Sorry about all the fuss,” he said with a shrug, “But I feel like things are okay now!”

They shook their heads in disbelief, as if it was practised. Anders pulled back to look him in the eye. “We are going to have a serious talk about this.”

Hawke rubbed the back of his neck, dreading it already but he nodded. This was going to take some explaining. And apologising. And probably some more explaining to himself.

He was reminded of the peculiar sensation in his head and he cautiously probed the unfamiliar part of his mind. “ **What are you doing?** ” Purpose snapped back at him.

 _Whoops_ , he thought, _my bad_.

“ **We must talk as well** ,” The spirit said to him, “ **We must discuss what we need to do**.”

 _Well, you’re cheery! And well adjusted too… are you sure you haven’t done this before?_ He quipped and felt a sense disapproval that didn’t come from him, he noticed in surprise.

“ **I am as uncomfortable and unfamiliar as you are with this.** ” Purpose said curtly.

 _This is going to take some getting used to_ , and Purpose agreed.

He felt a poking on his shoulder, and looked at Anders, who was looking at him expectantly. He blushed and realised he’d spent the last few moments completely absorbed in an internal conversation - he’d have to remember to ask Anders how he managed it without ignoring everyone around him.

Anders explained for him, “You’ve caused your mother a great deal of stress, Hawke, she deserves an explanation.”

He widened his eyes and nodded. “Of course,” he said, “Not now though. Tomorrow.” Leandra looked about to object but the exhausted look on her son’s face made her stop.

Anders’ eyes flashed blue and he stood up and walked towards Fenris (which Hawke considered to be a _very_ risky move on Justice’s part), and the spirit inclined his head to him. “ **Despite your opinion of us, you did as I said. It was the right thing to do: it may have saved Hawke’s life. You have done yourself justice. I thank you.** ”

Fenris stood there, uncomfortable as the spirit spoke to him, and even more uncomfortable when his eyes stopped glowing and Anders replaced him. He nodded at him with a smile, albeit forced, “Hawke.” he said as a farewell to the man still half sprawled on the floor and then turned to walk out of the door. The rest of them followed saying their goodbyes, not discussing what had happened: not actually knowing what had happened, for some of them.

“I’m glad you’re doing alright, lethallin,” Merrill said quietly, and left too.

Silence fell in the room as Hawke shifted, sitting up, and Anders slumped as he fully realised what this would mean for Hawke, for _them_. Seeing him like that a few moments ago brought back memories of when he and Justice joined. He could only think of how much it hurt, how scared he was, and how he never had anyone to talk about it except Justice, so he just never came to terms with it. _It wouldn’t be like that_ , he told himself, _Hawke won’t be alone_. It didn’t stop the trepidation setting in again.

Anders turned back to him, and now he was stern. “Hawke-”

“Anders.” he mimicked, slowly standing on aching muscles.

“I’m not being funny, Hawke. I need to understand why you did this.”

The man gave a soft laugh, looking at Anders’ sombre face. “A moment ago you couldn’t be happier!” He pointed out, continuing with a pouty face and puppy eyes, “What happened to lovey-dovey Anders?”

“Hawke, I’m asking this _because_ I love you!” He said, exasperated. “What in Thedas made you want to do this?” He rubbed a shaky hand over his face. “You’ve- you’ve seen what it did to me. To me _and_ Justice. Why would you do that to yourself?”

Hawke’s heart sank as he saw the expression on his face. He looked lost, panicked, betrayed. He hated that look. He cursed himself for not seeing the look in his eyes sooner. He’d tried to make somewhere Anders felt supported until he was ready to tell him everything that had happened, and he hadn’t even acknowledged how this would affect him. Hawke walked towards him softly. “Anders,” He said gently, pulling the healer’s hand away from his face and held it between his own. “Anders, look at me.”

His eyes were threatening to spill with unshed tears. The man had been strong, through most of his time with Justice: he felt he’d offend Justice if he was anything but clear and focused. Hawke came along and changed that, and he had something else to focus on besides the mage rebellion, but…. the thought of Hawke having to go through that himself was too much, and it brought up too much that Anders hadn’t dealt with. He wasn’t sure he could take it. It was selfish, Anders thought, to even focus on himself at a time like this, but it was too much.

“Oh, Anders,” he squeezed the hand in his grip, “It’s going to be alright. I’m going to be fine.” The hand in his grip shook more as the man fought back tears. “ _You’re_ going to be alright.”

“I-I-” He panted, trying to get his words out, that it was stupid to focus on him when so many things were about to change for Hawke. “It-”

Hawke hushed him and led him to his bed, where they sat down and the taller man rested his head on his shoulder. He hugged him tightly. Hawke knew Anders had been through a lot more than he let on, that his merging with Justice changed him. They’d only been merged a few months when Hawke met him, and no one can truly hide when they’re not coping with something. He’d thought that maybe them being together would help: give Anders something stable to rely on. But it seems he only made things worse.

Hawke kicked off his boots and leant down to untie Anders’, and the mage leant forwards and put his head in his hands. “I’m- I’m sorry, Hawke.”

The man shushed him again as he pulled one of his boots off and moved onto the other, and took that one off too. He wasn’t going to get changed, they were both too tired for that, so he shifted back on the bed and opened his arms for him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” the mage said, burying his head into his embrace.

“Anders, you’re not going to lose me.”

“I love you,” he murmured against his chest and Hawke smiled.

“It would be awkward if not.” He kissed the top of Anders’ head to show what he meant as Anders let out a dry laugh. It was enough.

He held the mage tighter, knowing that tomorrow, Anders would have collected himself and would want to hear the whole story. For now, he was content to soothe what the real Anders was feeling, the one he couldn’t show to the rest of his friends. He rubbed his arm with his thumb softly.

They didn’t get under the blankets, they just held each other and shared each other’s body heat. They were both safe and warm and loved, and they stayed that way, with their arms locked around each other, as they drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the break I took was longer than I thought (whOOPS) but I'm back with a new chapter with Purpose and Justice in the Fade!

Purpose was uncomfortable. He didn’t sleep, he’d never slept, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do when sleeping. As a spirit of Purpose, he was always active, moving through the Fade to where he was needed or where he needed to be. He would speak to people where the Veil was thin, provide advice and help them achieve their goals. He would whisper to the minds of dreamers, offering insight that only he could see. And he could feel when they went out with a renewed sense of purpose to do what they had to. He, himself, had a purpose. 

And now… 

What was he supposed to do? 

It was terrifying. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t  _ do _ anything. He began to panic - he’d spent enough time in the Fade to know that when a spirit couldn’t carry out it’s purpose it… it... No, that wouldn’t happen to him. He’d make his own purpose. 

And now, it was to find out what he was supposed to do when Hawke slept. It helped, somewhat, to know what he had to do. He was relaxed once more. He’d never really experienced emotion before, just watched as wisps echoed them in the Fade or when he felt the minds of those he helped. It seemed that his merging with Hawke had affected him more than he had anticipated. 

He seemed to have set himself apart from the man, and even though their thoughts had sometimes entangled earlier and he had a strange fondness for the Warden mage, he felt like himself. He’d never possessed someone before, but from what he’d witnessed in memories he concluded it was a complete merging of minds, where there was no distinguishable difference between the two parties. This… seemed different. Cohabitation, almost. He saw it mirrored with Justice. Perhaps he had misunderstood, or were they different? He couldn’t say. 

He observed the inky blackness around him, reaching out tentatively with his mind. It was nothing like he’d ever known, but it was uninteresting, blank. He didn’t know how Justice could stand it. Perhaps it was because he didn’t have this persistent need to be active, but he couldn’t believe that he’d just sit idly by for… how long did humans sleep for? Spirits don’t understand the concept of time in the same way as Thedosians do, but he felt like it had been for hours already.

Curious and, frankly, bored, he pried into his host’s sleeping mind. Peeped, really. But still, he managed to fall headfirst in, and land in the Fade. 

But it was… wrong, twisted. He could barely hear the song that sang beyond the Veil, it was muted, faraway, like listening to it underwater. Everything was slightly blurry, as if every object was shimmering at once but you couldn’t tell until your eyes moved. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t home. 

**This must be how humans see the Fade,** he thought to himself, looking around and squinting slightly. He glanced down in surprise when he noticed he wasn’t in his own form, he was standing there in the body of Hawke.

**It is.** A voice came from behind him, where Justice was sat, cross-legged, staring at the murky grey ground, his lips unmoving.

**Justice,** he didn’t so much as reply as think in response. In the Fade, most spirits were accustomed to acknowledging each other without speaking, and the denizens rarely spoke aloud except to wandering mages or the sleeping. 

**I don’t know why they see it like this. It doesn’t do justice to how beautiful it really is.** Justice mused, not looking up.  **I wonder how us spirits appear to them. I never thought to ask.** He gestured to himself with a lazy hand.  **You get used to appearing like this, though.**

Purpose doubted that, but he came and sat down next to him, and unused to controlling such a cumbersome body, fumbled to cross his legs and just ended up with his legs sprawled in front of him.

**You’ll get used to** **_that_ ** **too.**

Purpose would have smiled, but couldn’t quite coordinate the muscles in his face as well as he wanted, making a grimace and inclining his head softly.  **This is all too much, Justice** , he said softly, looking up at the shimmering sky.  **It’s too much.**

**You didn’t expect it to be easy,** Justice replied shortly. Purpose only hummed in response, and the other spirit narrowed his eyes at him.  **Why did you decide to do it?** He asked.  **It was only after I had experienced the mortal world for myself that I realised I should do more to help here. Such experiences are rare. So why did you want to?**

Purpose’s purple gaze turned to him.  **When Hawke came to me, he was filled with such a will to accomplish his task that I was instantly drawn to him. Like attracts like, as I’m sure you know.** Justice nodded.  **And when I spoke to him, I saw that such an arrangement would be beneficial. I could further his efforts to achieve his goals, and through him, I could carve a deeper sense of purpose into the world around him. I did not expect the merging to be that… unpleasant.**

**A mutually beneficial arrangement. I see it.** **Anders and I had that once. He is… lost, now. I share his mind but I do not share his priorities.** Justice sighed softly. **Not anymore.**

**What is distracting him?**

**Hawke.**

**Oh.**

They didn’t speak for a while, after that. Purpose knew that the more Hawke worked, the more Purpose helped him to work, the more caught up Anders would become in their plans. The more distracted he would become from his own purpose. And their purpose would be greater than justice. 

After a long while, Purpose spoke again, changing the subject.  **Is this all you do when Anders sleeps?**

The spirit gave him an odd look.  **No. Sometimes I wander the Fade, speaking to the travellers, much as I did before. Sometimes I follow the dreamers. Sometimes I watch Anders.**

**You watch him dream? Why not interact, as you would have before?**

**I made a promise to him. I do not interfere with his dreams, and he doesn’t interfere with me here either.** He seemed irritated, almost. Purpose didn’t know why.  **Look.**

Justice spread his hands before him, opening a window to a different part of the Fade. Purpose peered in, to see Anders and Hawke. They were lying in a field, staring up at the sky. Hawke was pointing up at the stars, almost directly at Purpose, and talking softly to him. 

Purpose cocked his head as he watched, feeling a warmth in his chest as he did. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his companion once more. 

**Their emotions are difficult.** Justice said.  **Even I do not understand most of them, nor should I. Seek to understand them, speak to Hawke about them, but do not lose sight of who you are. You know what happens if you don’t know what you are.**

**Did that happen to you?**

Silence. 

Purpose followed Justice’s eyes back to where the two mages were lying, still stargazing with dumb grins on their faces. He waited for him to speak. Or to not speak. He waited and watched. 

And after a while, Justice sighed, not looking up.  **In a way.** Purpose kept his gaze on the scene before him. Somehow he thought looking at Justice would have been… intrusive. More intrusive than watching the two dream, anyway.  **When we merged, it was the same as with you and Hawke, but we had no one to help us. And as we were establishing our balance, I-we changed. There was so much** **_anger_ ** **at the injustice, at the treatment of mages, at the** **_Templars_ ** **-** his eyes flared angrily but he calmed himself in a split-second.  **We both changed into something we were not. There’s a part of us that is neither Justice nor Anders. It’s Vengeance. And when we get angry, blinded by rage… it’s Vengeance that takes over and I don’t think either of us can stop it.**

They sat in silence again after that, just watching. 

Anders was laughing, pushing Hawke onto his back and crawling on top of him, placing breathless kisses on his lips. Hawke was… happy here, Purpose felt it. A place where they were free from judgement or harassment by Templars. And… knowing about Justice’s promise… a place where they were free from the spirits in their heads.

That was what true freedom felt like. 

Happy. 

Happy and in love. 

The scene before them started to flutter, to change, shimmering brighter than before. Justice looked at him.  **They’re waking up,** he said, as he himself began to disappear.  **Remember, Purpose.**

**_Trust him._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! :)  
> Let me know what you think if you have the time ʘ‿ʘ

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! (°∀°)  
> Let me know what you think and if you want any more, if you've got the time!


End file.
